The Judgement of Albus Dumbledore
by hazju1
Summary: What did Albus Dumbledore see when Severus Snape killed him? He was human, and by definition, imperfect. He has waited to see his family for so long, but there are things to do before he can finally rest. It'll be a two-shot; the first chapter is mainly an introduction.


Albus found himself standing in a white fog. Bright light seemed to emanate from somewhere—from everywhere—but he could discern nothing about his surroundings, only that he was warm, comfortable, and more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a long while. He was...calm. The man looked down, and, finding himself naked, wished for clothing, only to have some robes appear instantly in front of him. He started, and approached them slowly, marveling at the mysterious qualities of this...place.

While dressing himself, he noticed that his left hand was healed and wholesome again; as he flexed and spread his fingers in wonder, he noticed that every other mark and blemish he could ever recall having on his body was gone—including the map of the London Underground, sadly. _Where am I?_ he asked himself. Albus's last memory came to him somewhat hazily; he remembered being with young Draco Malfoy on a tower...the Astronomy tower, having just returned from...some excursion with Harry. Severus and other Death Eaters had found them, and..._Ah, so it seems Severus fulfilled his promise in the end. Then I must be—_

"Albus Dumbledore," a stern voice sounded, interrupting his thoughts.

He whirled around, searching for its source, to find a thin man who looked to be in his fifties, with short greying red hair, a well-groomed moustache and beard, and very familiar blue eyes. A man Albus had not seen in over a hundred years.

"F-Father," he managed to whisper, disbelieving.

"Yes Albus, it's me," Percival Dumbledore sighed, "and yes, you are dead."

Albus Dumbledore stood there in shocked silence, staring at a sight he had hoped for but dreaded throughout most of his life. Any trace of the calm he had just felt was gone, replaced by a mixture of elation and trepidation.

For all the time Albus had spent fantasizing about getting his hands on the Resurrection Stone—all the years, decades even, that he had spent wondering what he would say to his father, mother, and sister, were he given the chance to apologize, to explain himself—he was now at a loss for words. He had been a venerable old mentor figure for so many years now, and to so many people, that to stand there in front of his own father, the only person to have truly been such a figure for him, was overwhelming to say the least. What would he say? Where would he begin? Albus certainly felt older than his father looked, and was used to thinking of people at such an age as young. But Percival Dumbledore had been dead for many, many years, and had certainly seen everything Albus had done throughout his life; his mistakes, fears, uncertainties—his father was no doubt privy to them all. If anything, Albus was the young one. He felt reduced to no more than a boy.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Albus hesitantly began, "Father, I..." but Percival held up a hand to stop him.

"I'm sure my appearance comes as a surprise to you, Albus, and we certainly have much to discuss...but you have nothing to fear. You made mistakes in your life, just like all who preceded and will follow you. It is to be expected. Some mistakes were greater than others, but that, too, is to be expected." Percival looked at him, fixing his son with the same penetrating gaze Albus was known so famously for. "What you must now do is not only understand and apologize for your mistakes, but also come to terms with them. You will not find complete solace in receiving forgiveness from the people you have harmed through your actions," he said frankly, "You will need to forgive yourself. This is a long process, but you will have help." He walked towards a campfire and pair of cozy armchairs that had appeared, and beckoned for Albus to follow.

Albus walked slowly over to the chair nearest to him, still struggling to make sense of what was happening. He wasn't sure what to make of his father's words; really, his entire demeanor was somewhat off-putting. Albus remembered his father to be a kind man, but stern and almost severe when displeased, which he surely was at the moment. As he sat down, the younger man asked, "Where are we? There doesn't seem to be..." While he spoke, however, his surroundings came into definition. The light dimmed and changed color, and it now emanated from the setting sun in the distance. The lifting fog revealed a dirt road bordered every so often by small cottages with thatched roofs. A field was visible behind the houses on one side of the road, with a dense forest on the other, and there was a small church in the distance. He noticed they were seated in the front yard of a familiar house. _It's Godric's Hollow as it was during my youth,_ Albus realized

"We're in front of Bathilda's house," he murmured.

"Really?" Percival responded arily. "Very interesting. This...dimension, you might say...could be described as a sort of antechamber to death proper. This is the place people find themselves in directly after their souls leave their bodies, if they don't leave behind a ghost. It is here that they come to terms with death, and accept the inevitability of moving on. Often, already deceased loved ones return here to guide them, and help them along their way—much as I am doing with you." He paused. "This place does not look like anything to me, as you are the one who truly belongs here—for now. To the souls who make it here, it usually takes on the appearance of a place that strongly influenced the path their lives would take. I suspect you know the significance of this location."

The younger Dumbledore nodded, looking down at the grass. "Gellert," he stated softly.

His father nodded solemnly, "Partly, yes; it was here that you fell in love with young Grindelwald. It was here that your sister died, and it was here that you decided to forgo your plans for leadership and revolution, and dedicate yourself to a life of research and respected professorship."

Albus was mildly surprised to find that his father knew of his romantic feelings for Grindelwald; as far as he knew, even his closest friends had never come close to detecting those long-buried sentiments. _Father had been dead by then...he could have gleaned such knowledge easily in the afterlife, _Albus surmised. When Percival didn't continue, Albus looked up to find those piercing blue eyes inspecting him closely.

He sighed heavily, "After the confrontation with Aberforth...I came to my senses, so to speak. It took me some time to appreciate the extent of my folly in putting forth the...ideas I did. True, it would have been infinitely worse had I followed Grindelwald and carried out our plan, but even so. Soon after, I abandoned any political ambitions I had left. I knew then that I could not be trusted with too much power."

Still gazing at his son, Percival leaned back in his chair, inclining his head noncommittally. "There are sure to be many who would disagree with you, but that is a discussion for another time." He steepled his fingers and grew more serious. "You discuss Grindelwald as though he were the one to most affect your young life. What of Arianna? Or your brother?"

Albus flinched.

"I...yes, they played an important role as well," he whispered, "but I try not to stir up such thoughts too often."

Percival spoke softly, "Tell me."

Albus looked down, then. "When Kendra—when mother died, I had to forgo my trip through Europe with Elphias in order to care for Arianna. There was…it seemed unfair to me. How I wished to let Aberforth come home from Hogwarts. He wanted that as well, and it was reasonable—Arianna...she always preferred him, though she would never say..." He trailed off, breath hitching slightly. "But it wasn't proper, I told myself. You and mother, particularly, would want Aberforth to finish his education. And I, in a twisted way, wanted to prove I was the better brother. _I_ would be the one Arianna turned to, while Aberforth was away in school."

Percival remained silent, letting his son give voice to thoughts he had buried within himself long ago.

"I stayed for the wrong reasons. I loved them, but my resentment grew as I remained in the cottage for weeks that stretched to months. I felt trapped, and there was little I could do but exchange correspondence to keep myself occupied. It was not nearly enough…I wanted to do research, to discover, to be in the forefront of wizarding society again. Why should I, a master of transfiguration, the brightest, most powerful wizard of my age, be reduced to such mundanity?"

Albus paused and looked up, tears in his eyes. "And then…Bathilda came to visit one day, to introduce me to her nephew who was visiting from Belgium."

Taking a shaky breath, he continued, "I was a fool, father. He was intelligent and powerful, but also everything I was not. Such charm, such charisma! I alone was to blame for feeling trapped, but he offered the release I sought. I once again could be important, relevant—revolutionary. I spent more and more time away from home with him, growing our fledgling plans greater and more terrible as the days passed. Never mind those whose lives and desires would be sacrificed in the process. It was for _the greater good._" He hung his head bitterly. "Such a fool..."

"Albus..." Percival murmured, but he didn't seem to hear, wrapped up as he was in his tale.

"I didn't realize," Albus whispered. "I didn't notice how Arianna suffered. I spent more and more time away from her, cultivating Grindelwald's and my twisted ideals. She was alone more often than not, and I...so fixated was I on my dreams of greatness and power that I all but abandoned her. She was just a girl, father...a young girl, forced into isolation with only her daily torment for company, watching her self-appointed protector leave for hours on end."

"When Aberforth returned for the summer, he was furious. He saw immediately what I had purposely blinded myself to; how she had become withdrawn—sickly from malnutrition and eyes sunken from lack of sleep. "

Albus had his eyes closed now, tears streaming silently down his face. "I ignored his accusations. She was fine, I told him. I played with her, I took care of her, I gave her all she needed, but it wasn't true. I told Aberforth how important the plans with Grindelwald were, how key our ideas were to the progress of wizards and muggles alike. It only served to show him how deluded I had become, and he grew more irate. Arianna tried to step between us, trying to calm us down, but she was so weak..."

"When Gellert arrived to see what was keeping me, Aberforth confronted him as well, and we soon escalated to all-out dueling. Aberforth, I knew, was protecting Arianna and at the same time attacking Grindelwald out of anger; I was protecting both while trying to subdue my brother." Albus paused. "It wasn't until some time later, however, that I realized Gellert was actually taking the opportunity to try to kill them."

He took a shaky breath, and continued. "Finally, Arianna couldn't take it," he breathed. "She lost control, and in the chaos of her outburst...she was hit." Albus leaned forward in his chair, putting his head in his hands.

Percival spoke softly, "Of all the mistakes and errors of judgement you made throughout your long life, this one you hold deepest within your soul and closest to your heart.

The two sat there in the light of the setting sun, and if one were to gaze upon them at that moment, one would not see Albus Dumbledore as he appeared on the day of his death, old, wise and venerable, but rather as a mourning boy being comforted by his father.

* * *

**A/N:** What do you think? I hope someone likes it. This is the first part of a two-shot. The second part will be longer, of course; I felt that this was a solid cutting point. I'm planning to do this for Snape, and then Voldemort, so watch out for those.

Please review, and favourite if you liked it!


End file.
